a part of you remembers a time when chris told his brothers— nate included,— and their whole platform that he would simply not cry during his wedding, and that he didn’t understand the hype in general.
but now, standing face to face with that same man, it’s seems he was a total liar.
you look at him in awe as the lights twinkled around you two, family and friends surrounding the floor that the two of you stood on. iris by the goo goo dolls hummed through the speakers in varying spots around the room— successfully submersing you in the moment.
your arms were hooked around his neck while his hands rested gently on your waist, but he still somehow managed to make you feel like you’d never be let go despite his soft mannerism.
swaying in unison as everyone’s attention was focused solely on you guys, you watch chris’ eyes fill with love and devotion. his suit jacket was long forgotten— laying on the backrest of his chair, which left him in his half-unbuttoned button up and black tie. you saw the way his eyes periodically shifted to your white dress, flowing gracefully across the floor.
“im so in love with you…” you hear him whisper faintly in your ear. what you’re not certain if you heard, however, was the tiny sniffle that came with it.
you maneuver your head to catch the small glint on his cheek, rolling like a delicate raindrop. the corners of your lips twist into a smile— but not in the teasing way, in the most purest, tender, intimate way.
“you big baby,” you coo, your own eyes filling with tears of love. he smiles back, rubbing your lower back with his hands.
“if i had all this to do over again… i’d find my way back to you, over and over baby, i promise.” he professed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.
a small pout of warmth spread on your face, causing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. his hand came up to rest on the back of your head, caressing it gently.
“im just so happy its you.” the whisper came out of your mouth as you lifted your head once more, reaching a hand up to brush a salty tear that tried to escape from his cheek. you shook the dot of runny sodium off your finger before placing a gentle kiss where the tear previously stood.
you swayed slowly as the world seemingly condensed down to just the two of them, but that’s all that mattered anyway.
a/n — work song started playing while writing this and now im lowk crying? anywho ! is this ass? idk
This fandom is so so soooo active that I’m probably missing some fics I’ve read recently & enjoyed…but I tried my best to track them all down lol! Enjoy !!
matt cannot hold it together when you scratch his back during sex
he chain hung low, cold metal pressing against your forehead once or twice as he drove into you. you held your breath, unsure of what else to do in the heat of the moment.
you felt so full. like there wasn’t an atom of space left between your coated walls and his dick.
with each stroke, the room began to spin a little faster, you could feel each edge and corner of your pussy being filled, slowly but definitely.
and Matt showed no signs of slowing down, his tongue wetting over his bottom lip in concentration, brows knitted tight.
“fuck… Matt…” you heaved, digging your nails into his back, leaving angry red lines every time her pulled back, only to be inside of you again just a second later.
on the other hand, Matt was struggling. when you left your mark all over him, he went feral. Matt’s shoulders flexed under the tension.
he groaned, shoving his head into your neck. his pulse hammered erratically against your skin, lips caught on your jaw. he was desperate and losing his mind.
and you were the reason.
“don’t stop. please,” he whined, “m’gonna—cum….” the last audible phrase to leave his mouth, raspy and breathless, before he fell apart inside of you.
and tomorrow he’d be covered in the consequences. the proof.
it rhymes with doorgasm. happy reading !! also creds to @theosbae for the idea. go read + interact with her original post.
⋆˙⟡ in which: after a big fight, matt gets overwhelmed
req! by anonymous: here.
a/n: i tried to write this as non-cringe as possible but i still feel like it is a little bit…
cw: ANGST, some fluff at the end, lowkey a lil bit cringy, reader is insecure and jealous and implies matt is cheating, matt has a panic attack
not proofread
“So you didn’t even think to invite me, and then I see you posted up with some other girl?!” You ask incredulously as you shove your phone in Matt’s face.
On the screen was a TikTok by one of the triplets’ crazy “fans.” It included a screenshot of Matt taking some girl’s pictures in the background of Nick’s story. Apparently, the fandom now thought that Matt and this girl were together.
“Baby, I told you, she’s just my fucking friend. Nick was busy so she asked me to take her pictures instead.” Matt sighed angrily, running his hand over his unshaven face.
“Then why were you sitting next to her at dinner too?” You scrolled to the next TikTok, which showed that Matt and the girl were indeed sitting side-by-side at the dinner table.
“C’mon, [Y/N], you know the fans like to make something out of nothing. It’s not a big deal, I’m telling you. It was assigned seating. And I was just doing her a favor by helping with her Insta pics.”
“The favor of getting her plump ass perfectly pictured in every single photo?” You said, now scrolling through the girl’s Instagram post. “And making sure every bit of her tits but her nipple is sticking out? Did you also help her adjust her top for every picture?”
“So now you’re calling my friend a slut?” Matt clenched his jaw.
“You said it, not me.” You huffed, crossing your arms.
“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Are you that insecure that you have to pick apart every single detail of my friendship with another female?” Matt threw his hands in the air.
“I’m not insecure.” You said defensively.
“This is literally the fucking definition of insecure, [Y/N]. You have no reason not to trust me. You need to stop projecting onto me.”
“Projecting? Are you suggesting that I’m a cheater?”
“You’ve been suggesting this whole time that I am!” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I never said that, it’s just weird as fuck how you’re hanging around another girl when i’m not with you.”
“I’m so fucking done with this.” Matt turned on his heel and strutted out of the living room. You heard the door to your bathroom that was connected to the bedroom slam closed.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe you were being a little overdramatic. And overprotective. And controlling. But it was all because you were jealous. While your boyfriend got to go out to parties, you had to stay at home and pretend like you didn’t exist so the fans didn’t go wild.
Suddenly you heard a loud sound from the bathroom. You shot off the couch and rushed through the bedroom and to the bathroom door. You knocked.
“Matt?”
You pressed your ear to the door and heard gasping breaths. Fuck.
You pushed the door open to find Matt sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes were wide, he was shaking and hyperventilating.
You instantly rushed to his side and crouched down.
“Hey, hey. Matt. Breathe.” His eyes wide eyes turned to yours. You led by example, taking deep breaths.
“In...” You breathed in, and he did the same, breath stuttering.
“Hold.” You instructed, and held your breath. He followed suit.
“Out…” You blew out all of your air. Matt copied. You repeated this cycle a few more times, until his breathing was steady.
You rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. He still seemed distant, so you wracked your brain for a coping skill.
“Hey,” You tugged his hand and he turned to look at you. “Tell me five things you can see.”
He blew out a shaky breath, knowing your intention. “Um, the shower curtain, the painting on the wall…” He looked around the room. “Y-you’re wearing my favorite shirt. The sink needs to be cleaned. And… the closet door.”
“Okay, good.” You gave him a supportive smile. “Now, four things you can feel.”
Matt swallowed. His hand tightened in yours. “Your hand, the bathroom floor, the rug,” His unoccupied hand ran over the rug in front of the sink. “O-overwhelmed.” His voice cracked.
“Just focus on this right now, okay? Let everything else go.” You caught his eye and nodded supportively. “Three things you can hear.”
Matt nodded back, hesitantly. “Your voice, and mine. And…” He tilted his head up. “Airplane above the house.”
You listened too, hearing the roar of the engine as a plane passed over your house, probably headed to a nicer situation than yours right now.
“All right, almost done. Two things you can smell.”
“Your perfume and the bathroom air freshener.”
“Last one. One thing you can taste.”
Matt licked his lips. “Space camp.”
“Which flavor?” You encouraged.
“Coconut.” He replied.
After a few moments of silence, you lifted your other hand and brushed a piece of hair out of his face. “Better?”
He nodded, then his eyes fell to the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Matt. It’s not your fault. I’ll always be here for you. I’m here to help you, to support you.
I should be the one apologizing. I’m sorry I overreacted about the pictures. I was jealous because while you were out having fun with friends, I was stuck at home all alone and I missed you.” You admitted. “And I’m really sorry I implied your friend was a slut. She seems nice.”
Matt listened intently, nodding. “You know I would never cheat on you right? You’re the most important person in the world to me. I want you to know that, to trust me. And I can’t control whether you trust me or not, and when things are out of my control…” He gestured to the current situation.
“I know you would never do something to hurt me. And you were right about my insecurities becoming bigger than my trust of you. I’m sorry I let my jealousy take over.” You stood up and offered your hand. He took it and stood as well. You pulled him into a hug and he melted almost instantly.
His arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face in the crook of your neck. A muffled, “I’m sorry,” came from his mouth again.
“Shhh, it’s okay.” Your hand stroked the back of his neck. You pulled back and held his face in your hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? I love you just the way you are.”
guilty perv!chris won’t let himself cum over a wet dream about you
sweat soaked through his plain white shirt, he stopped between heavy pants to grasp the hem of the top and clenched the thin fabric between his teeth.
a hiss rode the cold waves of air from the AC. the only thing keeping Chris from having a heat stroke in the confines of his room. your thought lingered on his mind, leaving a cloud of guilt hanging over his conscience.
“f-fuck, i’m sorry…” he muttered to himself, the dream replaying in his head like a movie. one rated 18+. “the things you did to me. your hand around my co-”
a strangled moan escaped through his parted lips at his knuckles whitening against his erection. and though it was his hand, he imagined it was yours. he imagined your face there, grinning at how pathetic he was.
“pathetic. so so p-pathetic—ngh!”
when the pressure began to build up, causing his lower stomach to tense, Chris’ head fell slack onto the pillow behind him. gasping as he struggled to focus on the ceiling, he shook his head.
a stray teardrop coursed down his face as Chris tore his hand away from the almost satisfied ache pulsing through his dick. almost.
but he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t let himself cum. no, he had to punish himself for the things he thought about you constantly. for the way he pictured you on top of him after time you made eye contact.
“m’sorry…”
𐔌 file.an — first blurb !! send in requests and follow if you fw it. perv!chris is #2d4z. also heavily inspired by mattscoquette’s perv!matt.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... your boyfriend loves you a lot, even after your death.
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔... fluff ⬩ heavy angst ⬩ bf!matt ⬩ mentions of death, nothing too graphic ⬩ life’s unfair to matt ⬩ more.
Matt slowly stirred awake at the feeling of your fingers carding through his hair. His lips curled up at the corners in that lazy, effortlessly charming way that always had your heart beating a little faster. His eyes fluttered open, voice still heavy with sleep as he spoke. "What’re you doing up, baby?"
"You should wake up soon, it’s getting late." You said in response, softly, affectionately. Matt groaned quietly in mock annoyance at your words, but he snuggled closer to you, one arm draping across your waist.
You smiled at your boyfriend’s clinginess and continued to comb through his hair, your nails gently grazing his scalp, somewhat massaging it. He almost purred at the feeling, nuzzling his head more into your gentle hand like a cat in need of affection.
"What time is it?" He finally mumbled after a while, a bit more awake than a minute ago. You hummed to yourself and looked at the clock on your phone, then answered his question with the same tone you’ve used all morning—soft, a bit sleepy. "Afternoon. 1pm."
Matt sighed and reluctantly rolled over onto his back and stretched his limbs before looking at the ceiling like it was the reason he felt so drained. "I don’t wanna get up." He complained like a toddler, turning his face towards you with a playful pout.
You chuckled softly, sitting up. "C’mon, baby, you’re going to be late if you don’t get up now."
Matt cocked an eyebrow. "Late to what-"
"Matt."
Matt heard a faint voice in the distance, calling out his name, but he chalked it up to the sound of the outside world coming in through the open window. He was about to say something to you when suddenly, it came again.
"Matt."
The voice was clearer, much clearer. Matt’s brows furrowed further, and he sat up, looking around. You tilted your head at him, smiling confusedly. "Is something wrong, baby?"
Matt sighed softly, his anxiety vanishing at the sound of your soothing voice. "No- it’s nothing, I just... I thought I heard something." He smiled at you, sheepishly. His hand reached out to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.
"Matt, wake up."
Matt tensed, his fingers freezing against your skin when he heard the voice again, louder.
He watched you smile, your hand reaching up to hold his on your cheek, as you whispered softly. "I love you, Matt. But you have to wake up."
Matt panicked and his eyes stung with tears as he reached out to you with his other hand. "Wait-"
Then, he woke up. Alone. In a cold and dimly lit room. His room. The room that once sparkled with your laughter now dim with the truth. Matt realized that it was all just a dream. He still slept on only one side of his queen sized bed, leaving the side you used to sleep on vacant. Your side of the bed was pristine, not even Mr. wrinkleton was allowed on it.
His eyes were dry as he stared at the clean white sheets. Suddenly, a warm hand tentatively found its way onto his t-shirt clad shoulder, the touch firm and grounding.
"Matt." Matt knew the voice belonged to Chris, but he wished it was you instead. But that’s impossible. Not after... He didn’t even want to remember it.
"C’mon, kid. Get up." Chris sighed, softly, not annoyed, more relieved to see that his brother didn’t look as dead today as the past few weeks. "Let’s get you dressed up. Nick and mom and dad are in the living room. Justin’s on the way. We’re going to be late if you keep staying in bed." Chris spoke softly, tugging on Matt’s arm, his expression grim.
Reluctantly, Matt got up and showered, not wanting to look bad for you. He dressed in a suit, fixed his hair for once, and wore the promise ring he thought was stupid once upon a day.
His expression was stoic—emotionless—as he got in the backseat of a mini-van. Justin drove, Chris sat in the front seat, and the rest sat in the back.
When he reached the venue—a beautiful place surrounded by nature—his heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again. This was where you had always wanted to have your wedding.
Matt watched as your relatives gathered, taking their seats. A painful lump formed in his throat as he avoided looking at the white casket sitting so peacefully in the middle of the altar.
The whole funeral went by a blur for Matt. Words sounded foreign. Every look his way felt full of pity. His whole world was dressed in a beautiful white gown, make-up done so prettily he would’ve complimented a million times and more, lying motionless in the soft cushioned casket.
Matt was forced to watch them lower your body to the ground. The woman he swore he’d spend the rest of his life with. He didn’t cry though. He couldn’t. His eyes felt dry. Too dry. But his heart ached with the kind of ache that reminded him he was still living—breathing.
But what’s the point in knowing, when you are not beside him?
Before he knew it, he was back in his house and room, sitting still on his bed, his eyes locked onto the promise ring on his ring finger. It’s the ring you bought for him and you. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a stainless steel ring with his and your name engraved on the inside—a cliché idea, really.
He remembered the laughter though. The joy on your face as you watched him put it on his ring finger as if you got married then and there.
Your ring was on your finger, buried underground with you. He couldn’t bring himself to cremate your body. Just the thought had bile rise up in his throat.
Matt was supposed to propose to you on the day you tragically passed away. He still has the engagement ring sitting in its black velvet box in the far corner of the top drawer in his nightstand. He can’t bring himself to put it anywhere else.
The reminder of how much he had planned for their future was too painful. So he kept it there, hidden from sight, in a futile attempt to dull the pain even just a little.
Your death wasn’t really anyone’s fault. A bridge collapsed and you happened to be driving across it, on the way to go to the place Matt had reserved for your anniversary. And even though almost everyone left unscathed, you just so happened to be out of luck that day, being the only car to fall into the water below.
They were unable to retrieve your car from the waters until four days after the incident.
Everything after that was a blur. He identified your body, helped plan your funeral, gave whatever comfort he could to your family, and when he was alone in his room, he bawled like a baby, burying his face in your pillow like it’d save him from the pain and guilt gnawing deep into his heart.
It was rough; it still is. They allowed him to kiss you one last time, and he wished you would wake up and smile at him again like in those fairy tales his mother used to read him before bed. He didn’t really enjoy those princess fairy tales when he was young, thinking it was stupid how the princess woke up from her deep slumber with a simple "true love’s" kiss to her lips from the prince.
But now? He thought, every single night, how nice it would be if you just woke up after that kiss, and thanked him for saving you.
If only life was a fairy tale.
But no. Life’s cruel. It takes away your most precious people like they’re just a simple pawn in its game.
And all that Matt has left are memories of who you once were.
At least, memories will live on.
That’s why, he has to keep living for you, for the life they could’ve had, for the dreams and plans—and so on and so forth. He just has to survive another day. For you.
isa’s rambling ۶ৎ well... surprise! click-baiting in 2025 is insane btw, but i haaad to ’cause if i write that it’s angst at the top then it’s not gonna be as surprising. also, i dunno... i feel like i just rambled towards the end but i don’t want to proofread it and fix it so... pls turn a blind eye if it’s shit, ty :)
Tissues are strewn across the sofa, disgregarded, as you curl into the cushions. Even being wrapped in your most comfortable sweats doesn’t ease the chill of your body. You reach for a mug on the coffee table—the fifth cup of tea you’d brewed today.
Before your fingers could touch the ceramic, the phone rings.
Reaching to it, you groggily answer. “Hello?”
“Hey there, peach.” Elaine’s voice is cheerful from the other end of the line. “You up for a lake day?”
“I’d love to.” You cough. “But maybe another time?”
She hears the wavering of your tone. “Aw, are you sick?”
“It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine.”
“Oh honey, I know just the thing.” With that, Elaine hangs up.
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it surely wasn’t this.
Chris is standing in the doorway, holding a thermos. His big hands stretch across the container, making it look tiny in his grasp. Your eyes flit from his fingers to the keys hanging at his belt loop.
“Chris… hi!” You try to keep the enthusiasm at a minimum.
“Sorry, Elaine told me to come over with soup. You sick?” He raked his gaze over your disheveled appearance.
Your face is completely flush—both from the sickness and from Chris’ sudden arrival. “Yeah, I am. It’s nothing, though.”
He taps his fingers to the metal thermos. “Can I come in?”
“Are you sure you want to? I might be contagious.”
“I don’t get sick,” he assures, in a way that makes you believe him without a second thought.
Moving your shoulder aside, you gesture for him to enter. Heavy stomps from his boots descend past you, adding to the hammering of your chest. Once the door is closed, you walk to where he’s standing in the kitchen. Unable to stand up straight, the island beneath you acts as a physical support.
While he unscrews the container, Chris scans your figure. Not objectifying, not even admiring, just analyzing.
“You should go lay down,” he says. “You look pretty out of it.”
Grumbling, you retreat and lay back to the sofa. Thankfully, you had disposed of all the tissues. Head pounding and body shivering, you nestle into yourself, knees to chest. Having Chris here under these circumstances was not ideal, but it gave you an odd sense of comfort. In these last few months, you had grown accustomed to looking after yourself. You forgot how lovely it felt being cared for.
In your delusive state, time ticks by like a fever dream. You aren’t sure long it takes, but soon Chris is in front of you, holding a bowl.
“You might wanna sit up,” he says, with such authority that it leaves disobeying out of the question.
Once you’re seated upright, he hands you the soup.
“It’s the only thing I know how to cook.” He sits beside you, giving you a spoon. “Mom’s recipe.”
You hold the bowl in both hands, relishing in the warmth. Cozying up to it as if it’s a fire, you smile. “Thank you.”
“Anything for a neighbour.”
‘Neighbour’ isn’t exactly the title you want, but at least it’s a step up from ‘kid’.
“You can put some TV on, if you want,” you suggest, nodding towards the remote.
“Nah, the only things on are tennis and golf.” He makes a face.
You want to say the television is for more than just sports, but decide against it. Instead, you drink a spoonful of the soup. Although your tastebuds are muted, the fact that Chris cooked it made it the best thing you’d ever tasted. He’s watching you, like you’re a child at risk of choking.
After finishing half the soup, your body forces you to lay down. He is still next to you, and you curl your feet to not touch him. You tuck your palms into the sleeves of your hoodie, holding the edge of the fabric with your fingers. Rapidly, the cold shivers turn into hot sweats, and you feel like you’re on fire.
Weight lifts off the sofa as Chris gets up. At first you’re afraid he’s leaving, but you soon hear the sound of running water. When he circles back to you, he’s holding a folded cloth in his hands.
Crouching on his heels in front of you, he slowly brings the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up.”
You mumble in response. It’s impossible to string a full sentence together while he’s touching you.
“Here.” He replaces his hand with the rag.
Cool and wet, the cloth lays on your skin. Relief washes over you. You can’t help but close your eyes under his comforting touch.
The next thing you know, you’re waking up. Eyes still gritty with sleep, you immediately search the room for Chris. You’re met with the dark seeping in through the living room windows. And, of course, Chris sitting at the end of the couch.
“Ah, look who’s up,” he says with a soft smile.
“Oh gosh, how long was I out?” you murmur, brushing the hair from your face.
“A few hours. I didn’t wake ya, figured ya needed a good rest.”
The question gnaws at you enough that you have to ask it. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Yeah, hope that’s alright. I fixed the window in your bedroom, and that backdoor lock.”
He huffs a small laugh, and raises from the couch. “You better get to bed.”
You try to push yourself from the cushions, but your weak body betrays you.
“Can i?” He asks, looking down at you.
Whatever it was, you would let him. You nod.
Chris lowers just enough to hook the bend of your knees under his arm. His hand sneaks behind your back, and holds you. Like a feather, you lift to into the air. Stability isn’t needed, but you instinctively bring your hand around his shoulder. After one quick adjustment, he begins walking you down the hallway. Your face is nuzzled to his chest. Deep, woodsy cologne is clinging to his t-shirt. Your pulse throbs rapidly as he nears the bedroom.
Pushing the door open with his back, he brings you into your room. In a swift movement, he places you softly on the bed. The duvet is chilled under your touch, the perfect temperature for your heated body.
He unfolds a blanket at the footboard, and drapes the cozy material over you.
“Thank you…for everything.” You smile, cuddling to the covering.
“You gotta stop thanking me, kid.” He plants on the edge of the bed. He looks like a dad getting prepared to read a bedtime story. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
a/n: ik this is slow burn but I just have to really set the scene guys please get the vibe 🙏
